


My Child

by PaddyMoons



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Multi, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Red Room (Marvel), References to Depression, Sad, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-04 18:17:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyMoons/pseuds/PaddyMoons
Summary: The reader is an agent of the Red Room, having trained with Natasha Romanov in their youth. They are taken captive by Tony Stark and other members of the Avengers, interrogated, and set to rights. In the process of rehabilitation, the reader grows closer to everyone on the team.





	1. The Drill

**Author's Note:**

> The readers history is elaborated upon throughout the work. I did not want to bore any readers with drively exposition right out of the gate. I'm hoping to sprinkle it in in such a way that it remains interesting and pushes my plot onwards. with my track record, I would like to avoid any potential lagging in my writing because I've become lost in a bit of unnecessary backstory. As some may know, I tend to ramble.
> 
> Also, I have a bit of a potty mouth, and I feel like this guys do too. With a few notable exceptions ;)

You didn't know how you got here. Hell, you weren't even sure where 'here' was.

**_'There are nearly two hundred--BE EXACT!--One hundred ninety-five countries in the world. One hundred ninety-three of which are democratic.'_ **

You winced, pain lancing between your temples. It sounded like someone was speaking above you, but it was muffled and you did not know by what.

**_'There are forty-four monarchies including the Vatican. Seven of them are absolute monarchies.'_ **

Your throat vibrated dully but you weren't sure it had actually produced any sound. That was odd. Your brains systems were coming to awareness at an agonising pace. The rebar through your temples was begging you not to think so hard about it. How could you not? You had groaned, you were pretty sure of it. It felt like you had at least, but you couldn't heard it.

**_'More than fifty countries use English as their primary or official language.'_ **

There it was again, the vibration in your throat as a reaction to the pain driving through your skull. It could be more aptly described as drilling or droning. It truly felt as if it were moving, churning, as though your brain was being turned to mush.

**_'BE PRECISE!'_ **

This time you flinched. Your entire body flailed, trying to curl protectively into the foetal position. Anticipating a blow. 

**_'Weak. Always so weak.'_ **

Something kept you from going too far. Your body couldn't get more than a few centimeter off of whatever surface you were laying on.  _Straps_ , your mind supplied, barely audible over the drilling. Three of them. Shoulders, hips, ankles. Your arms were linked at the wrist by what felt like zip-ties.

**_'Five vital organs: brain, heart, lungs, liver, kidneys.'_ **

You had to pee. Not desperately, just enough to be aware of it.

**_'You are distracted, my child. FOCUS!'_ **

You were reasonably certain you were blindfolded somehow. Likely a hood; why take the risk of being spit at? It had to be relatively thick to muffle your hearing so effectively. Then again, the droning of the drill in your head was doing a bang up job of that all on its own.

Something heavy came down on your shoulder. It squeezed slightly, reassuringly?

 _Hand. Large. Probably male._   _Fatherly figure, feels responsible for everyone, even those he holds captive._

Your fists came up, colliding hard with a sudden, solid object above and behind you. Probably his head. Why was he sitting so close? A large strong hand caught your wrists, pinching the zip-tie into your joint.

_You've been taken prisoner. Hostage? No, they don't know who you work for._

It felt odd. Cold? It pinched. Uncomfortable. You jerked your hands down to your face and back up again. Maybe you would hit them in the face, that could be fun. The movement had the desired effect, breaking the grip on your wrist and freeing your hands to-- _What were we doing?_

_Escape is the priority. Remove the hood. Assess your attackers, your surroundings. Find an advantageous exit. Use it._

Ah, yes. You tugged the thick material off with a quick jerk. You could see again, not that there was much to look at; it was bright. Brilliantly bright. Stare into the sun, bright. Not as yellow, though. LED lights. You could feel yourself blinking stupidly as your eyes adjusted. 

 ** _'It has been a spell since you have been so desperately in need of conditioning, my child._**  '

A shudder ran up the length of your spine, culminating in a violent throb between your temples. You winced. Again.

**_'I'm disappointed.'_ **

Your vision cleared, revealing a crowd of people in a confined space. 

_Not a crowd, four people. Three men, one woman. One of the men was wearing something that looked rather like a harness. The man sitting behind you rubbing his ear was dressed in dark blue tactical gear. Something large was resting at his feet, one hand keeping it steady. The other man was standing over you with his hand up, a very light dusting of surprise marring his features. The hand that was up, and the arm it belonged to, was shiny. Metal. The one woman was seated with her back to the four of you, looking out a panel of windows. There appeared to be some kind of console on front of her that she was working at._

_We're in a jet. A plane. Only exit is the rear door._

Magnificent. I guess we're along for the ride, aren't we? A plane would explain the noise, at the very least, though it wasn't as loud now that you could see.

Captain America, Steve Rogers, the man in blue. His shield was resting at his feet and he continued to rub at the spot just above his ear. That would make the one in the harness Sam Wilson, the Falcon, and the one with the metal arm James Barnes, the Winter Soldier and HYDRA's secret weapon. Rescued by his dashing, blonde best friend only a few years ago during the Triskelion debacle. You remembered that. It had been all over the news, though only the files that Romanov had released to the public. All of the files, big and small. Your file, luckily, hadn't ever been in HYDRA's possession or you would have been a sitting duck.

The synapses were firing much faster now that you could think clearly. 

If these three were here, she must be the woman flying this blasted thing. Your blood boiled high in your chest at the thought of her so close. Fury and resentment were battling a fierce war, leaving only the smallest space in your head for clear thought. Keeping your face impassive through the turmoil, you endeavored to use it. If you were in their jet, likely headed in the direction of their compound in upstate New York.

This would be fun, indeed.

"Are you feeling alright?" You angled your head upward to through you lashes at the man behind you. "I hope I didn't hit you too hard."

"I can handle it. How are you feeling? You were making a good bit of noise before you whacked me."

"Oh, I'm fine darling. Just a bit disorienting to wake up and not be able to see is all." Your lashes fluttered ever so slightly. "I appreciate the bondage, were you planning on having your way with me?"

Sam slapped James' arm, mouth gaping in silent laughter. James' eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open in shock. Steve's face, however was a wonder to behold; his eyes had flown wide, a rosy blush dusted his cheeks, and his mouth was flapping open and closed like a fish.

You caught their eyes, each in turn, before speaking.

"Careful there boys, you'll catch flies."

 

 


	2. I am a HYDRA paedophile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader is working a job, gathering intel on an individual her client is intensely interested in. She finds herself at a political gala held in a magnificent hotel in Paris whose ballroom is packed with dignitaries from all the world. Her target as a man held in high regard with a curious military background.  
> Following their encounter, she comes face to face with both the asset for which she has been searching and a ghost from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo! Chapter 2 everybody! I'm proud of myself to have this done within a couple days of posting the first, especially given how short that one ended up being. Really more of a prologue if you ask me. A teaser.  
> I hope you enjoy this one and I do apologise for how long it ended up being but it was just so much fun to write, and so much happened that I felt you would all love to be caught up on.
> 
> xox  
> Pads

You had been dancing for many hours, never losing sight of your the man you were here for. Always gently, subtly, wheedling information about him from those with whom you spoke. This was your arena and your were the master illusionist. One song you had even spent in the arms of your target, allowing him to assume that he was the dog and you were the rabbit, coy and innocent. He was blissfully unaware of the trap that he himself had fallen into.

His wife had left early into the evening, sensing his distraction and unwilling to suffer his gross mistreatment of her. She was a beautiful woman, having aged quite gracefully. She was not his type, unfortunately for her.

He found you again for another dance before leading you, his apparently docile and naive young prey, upstairs to a suite he had reserved by the staff earlier in the day. He had been planning this since his last excursion. _Feeble men and their egos._

**_Never let your emotions cloud your mind. Distraction of any kind is inexcusable._ **

“Now, sweetheart, where were we?" His hands were roaming, searching for the zipper of your dress. He trapped you against the wall, stinking hot breath fanning over your face in a disgusting parody of intimacy. _Foul._ You looked away, eyes tracing the crown moulding instead.

**_Detach yourself!_ **

"You were telling me what you were in charge of, sir." Grabbing his tie you pulled him through the sitting area to the bedroom, its bed waiting patiently. "Telling me just how powerful you were."

"I was a colonel, tasked with security and asset management at one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities in the Alps, sweetheart. Now, why are you still dressed?"

_Not a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility._

You undressed each other quickly, though he struggled briefly with your zipper.

_Incompetent fool._

It finally fell in a heap at his feet, leaving you both in only your underclothes. He pushed you roughly onto the bed, clambering heavily after you , administering sloppy kisses to your exposed chest.

_Gross._

**_Control yourself._ **

You giggled like a simpering child and he flushed with pleasure, descending below your bra.

"What could have needed to be guarded so heavily? I thought their systems were the best?"

"They are, my sweet." He grinned up at you from the line of your underwear. "But you can never be too safe when there are assets in play."

You flipped him over to straddle his hips, effectively halting any further progress.

"Was it a particularly dangerous asset?"

**_Foolish girl. Fearful and emotional as ever, my child. You never learn._ **

You batted your doe eyes, playing up the innocence and naivety to steer around your slip. You needed the information. Being on top, physically dominating, was not going to get you where you needed to be.

A spark of anxiety skated across his dull features.

**_Fear is weakness._ **

He rolled you back over, this time keeping your hands in a firm grip above your head.

"Everything's dangerous, sweets."

"I just wouldn't want you to be hurt," you pouted, arching your body towards him.

A dangerous glint entered his eyes and he stepped off of the bed, bending down to pick something up. You propped yourself up on your elbows to see what he was doing. When he straightened, his tie was in swinging from between his fingers.

 _They all think they're so original._ You batted your eyes again anyway. _Best just to play along._

He cinched your wrists tight to the headboard. Tight enough that you would have chaff marks later. Spaced far enough apart that it would be a bitch to get them undone.

"Now, babygirl, Daddy's going to show you just how much fun pain can be." He tugged your underwear down with enough to leave friction burns on your thighs.

You cringed internally at his choice of words. _Fucking paedophiles._

On the roof of the building opposite, three people were crowded around a laptop, listening to the audio feed they had installed earlier, while a fourth looking into the hotel room through the scope of a rifle.

"The closest room is at the other end of the hall." The woman operating the computer pulled up the blueprints and and sat back on her heels. "The room they're in is in the corner of the building; if anything does happen, it isn't likely anyone will hear it. He didn't choose that room by accident."

"Why doesn't she just ask him her questions, kill him, and leave? Why is she letting him do that to her?" The man to her right crossed her arms and frowned, his disgust evident in every movement.

"That's not how people like me do business, Sam. People are more likely to be honest if they think they're in control of the situation, especially people like Pietrokov. She fucked up--" The man on her left cleared his throat but she continued as if nothing had happened. "--When she physically took control. She upset the balance. If you take control over a man like him, or make them aware of the fact that maybe they aren't entirely powerful, they freeze up and won't talk. She has to make him feel comfortable again, powerful, before he'll give her the information she's looking for."

"That's fucked up, man." The man in blue cleared his throat more loudly this time and Sam took his headset off, walking to the edge of the roof to observe directly.

"Would you like a cough drop, Steve?" Her eyes were twinkling with silent laughter.

"No, thank you, Natasha," he sighed heavily.

"They're finishing up," the man with the rifle finally spoke.

_"See, babygirl."_

Natasha's attention snapped back to the monitor.

_"Pain isn't so bad if you know what you're doing."_

_His companion hummed in apparent agreement. There was a pause before she spoke again._

_"Did HYDRA treat you well there?"_

Natasha caught a tense, questioning look from Steve and shrugged in response. The roof was deathly still.

_"I never said I worked for HYDRA."_

_Another pause._

_"No," she mused. "I don't suppose you did." The world felt as if it was holding its breath. "Did you know that assets know are trained to know the names, faces, and positions of all those they serve? You can't have expected to remain in the shadows for much longer, Pietrokov, especially not with the recent security breach."_

_"You--"_

_"I've been tasked with finding an asset that was held in your facility, intermittently, during the Cold War."_

_"He's lost, missing. If you know of my involvement with HYDRA, you must know that."_

_"I'm well aware. His disappearance is what has interested my employer. They want him found, komandir, and you want to help me do that."_

_"I do, do I?' It seemed she had struck a nerve. "And why exactly do I want that?"_

The man with the rifle frowned, pressing his eye closer to the sight of his rifle.

"Steve, this is going sideways fast."

 _"Because pain can be so much_ fun _, if you know what you're doing."_

Natasha snapped the laptop shut and sprang into action. Steve was already preparing to jump the distance between the two rooftops.

"I could use a lift, Sammy." She held her hand out for him to grab, his wing-suit already unfolding behind him.

He lifted her across the gap, both of them landing at a run behind the Captain. The third man landed more heavily behind them, following Natasha and Steve into the stairwell.

They entered the hallway, a ringing silence hanging heavy in the air. Steve broke the door handle with his shield and they filed through the living space toward the bedroom, Steve leading them and Natasha in the middle. The girl was there, sitting on the ass of the man they had been surveilling with her back to the door. She was dressed only in her lace underwear and matching bra and she was focused on whatever she was doing to the man's back. It was a sight to behold.

"Had I known company was coming, I would have put some clothes on."

Steve coughed awkwardly, usure where to look.

Standing up on the bed, you turned to face them. Captain America stood in front, the other two flanking at either side, just inside the door. You hopped down from the bed, stepping lithely into his personal space.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Captain?"

Your hands found their way to his waist and tugged coyly at the strp of his tactical belt, batting your eyes it him.

The woman behind him coughed loudly, breaking the your brief spell over the man.

“Right.” He looked over the top of your head your masterpiece on the bed. “What did you do to Pietrokov?”

“Oh, nothing,” you pouted, scuffing your feet against the carpet. You twisted to watch him stomp past you to inspect it. “I just had a little fun is all.”

“Fun? You call this fun?”

The man’s back had been carved with deep letter reading _‘I am a HYDRA paedophile’_. The words seethed with hatred in the low light of the room.

“It’s not like he didn’t deserve it.” You were sulking a bit, now, arms wrapped around your middle like a child.

Steve rounded on you, eyes ablaze, but softened at the sight of your posture. You looked every bit as wounded and vulnerable as a scolded puppy.

“That’s not your decision to make.” His voice was beseeching and earnest. He stepped forward, momentarily forgetting to whom he was speaking. “We are not judge, jury, and executioner. Men like him deserve to rot in prisoner, spend the rest of their lives trapped with the ghosts of the people they’ve hurt. Death is too good for them.”

Behind you Natasha had stepped forward and was vehemently shaking her head. Steve was so focussed on the child-like figure in front of him that he didn’t catch her warning.

“Men like him don’t believe they’re wrong, Captain. They’ll never stop being monsters.”

Natasha lunged for you a fraction of a second too late. There was a great flurry of moment the sent Rogers to the floor on his ass and her tumbling backwards into the imposing shadow near the door. You pulled a set of tactical gear from under the bed, immediately tugging on the trousers.

“Don’t even get me started,” you sneered. Your eyes flicked up to the two near the door, darkening dangerously when you saw the man helping Natasha to her feet and you paused in the act of pulling your pants the rest of the way on. “Seriously?”

You jumped to pull the trousers on properly. It would have been cute if you hadn’t looked so intensely murderous.

“What?” Natasha’s face was a picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“I’ve been looking for this asshole--” You jabbed you finger in Barnes’ direction. “--for years, _years_ ! My employer has me running all over hell’s half acre, chasing down ancient leads, trying to get they’re hands on him, and he’s with _you._ ”

The venom in your last word could have down the man in question but it was directed at the woman in from of him.

**_Keep your emotions in check, my child, or you will come to regret it._ **

Your skull throbbed painfully.

Everyone in the room seemed a bit taken aback by your outburst.

“What do you have against Natasha?” Steve got slowly to his feet, careful not to approach you this time.

Pulling your arms roughly into the tactical jacket, you scoffed derisively.

**_Control yourself._ **

“What do I have against her? Years of inadequacy, disappointment, and pain. My whole life has been spent trying to live up to the extraordinary standards set by the great Natalia Romanov. She was the favourite, the best, the one we were all told to emulate.”

Your voice had risen to near-shout during your tirade and you had advanced toward her without realising it.

**_You forget your training._ **

Natasha’s face was an impassive mask, only the smallest hint of a frown gave any indication of how quickly the gears were working behind those beautiful green eyes.

**_Master your emotions, you will never surpass her if you let yourself be consumed so easily._ **

Hatred and resentment were boiling high in your chest, threatening to spill out.

**_She wants you to suffer, my child. It’s the only way to succeed._ **

The voice was dangerously low now. It sent waves of pain pounding up you spin to your skull.

You stopped your advance on the woman by the door, shaking your head instead in slow oscillations before you returned your gaze. The fire in your chest had ebbed, leaving behind only the cold certainty of the task that was required of you.

“He’s coming with me.”

You shoved Natasha roughly out of your way and advanced on your target with unprecedented speed. Driving your right hand forward to his chest you allowed him a parry. He twisted you around to face the way you had come, a textbook suppression pinning with your arm behind your back. Using his grip on your wrist and your other hand behind his head, you launched yourself in a graceful twist over his head. Your momentum and trajectory knocked him onto his back with loud thud, the open zipper of you jacket tinkling quietly in response.

As you began hauling him in the direction of the suite door, a quick succession of footsteps tapped out on the floor behind you.

_Light; Natasha. Aiming to tackle. Probably expecting evasive maneuvers._

She landed on your back, sending you both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of angry limbs. You grappled and sparred with the terrifying grace of those trained to do so well from an early age. Predators.

You were stronger and faster but that did not wholly compensated for her superior skill.

**_Always a disappointment._ **

A few tense moments of combat later, she landed a solid strike with her electrified gauntlet.

**_‘Sloppy.’ He was frowning down at you, distaste unrestrained. ‘Romanov come with me. You, get her to conditioning or treatment. I will be there momentarily.’_ **

**_You screamed bloody murder, thrashing and biting at the man dragging you away. Natasha did not spare you a second glance, following the Director dutifully from the room._ **

Pain lanced between your temples and you groaned. You struggled to get your feet, it seemed to cost a great deal more effort than usual. _What’s going on?_

“Are you done?” Her voice was somewhere above you. Flames built in your chest, fueled by the recent humiliation.

“ _Y_ _ou._ ” You hooked her feet out from under her with your own and clambered on top of her, letting your fists flying in a blind fury. The world was tinged red with fear and rage. “You foul pain in my ass! You did this. They hurt us because of you. Killed them because you! You were so good they sold them to finance their experiments on the rest of us. All because you left!”

Incomprehensible flashes of thought and memory skittered around your head; torture, the deaths of your classmates, pain, and fear. So much fear it was blinding.

Abruptly you were flying, watching the room blur past you. Something had struck you, throwing you bodily across the space to strike the opposite wall with a sickening crash. Your vision swam in and out of focus and the right side of your body felt as if it had been hit by a truck.

“She’s still conscious,” Barnes spoke, approaching you cautiously. He looked like he might be surprised but there were too many of him to be sure.

**_Pathetic. Get up, my child. Do better._ **

“I wasn’t trying to knock her out, Buck.” You vaguely aware of the other man removing his shield from his arm. That must have been what hit you. “Are you okay, Natasha?”

**_A young Natasha stood in front of you in a the dark. She was showing you something, helping you with something you struggled with in training. She smiled at you and you could feel yourself returning the gesture._ **

Natasha shook her head at Steve. They were talking but you couldn’t focus enough to hear.

“Natty?” Your vision blurred. “I can’t do it, Natty.”

**_Young Natasha grabbed your hand and laughed, pulling you down a long dark corridor lined with closed doors. You could feel a childish fear clawing at your chest._ **

“Natty, please. I’m scared.” The blur dissipated when you blinked, falling to join the puddle of tears in front of your face. You heaved your body onto its hands and knees, shaking with the energy it cost you. _What were we doing? Why do I hurt?_

**_Fear is weakness and weakness is death, my child. It is best you learned that._ **

You tensed, anticipating a blow that didn’t come. The throbbing in your skull resurfaced with a ferver.

“My point was that a normal person would have passed out already.” The metal-armed man--Bucky? _Soldat_?--was crouched just out of your arms’ reach. He had a curious look on his face. “You know her, Natasha?”

“No. Well, yes, a long time ago, but not like this.” She had stepped up behind the man in front of you and there appeared to be two of her. Young and old blending together. “She was in the Red Room, but she used to be softer. She hasn’t aged much since then. She was trouble from day one; emotional and mischievous, always flubbing training exercises. One day she disappeared, I thought she died.”

You were only vaguely aware of what she was saying, the multiplicity of the room was getting to you.

**_Distractions will kill you and emotions are a distraction, my child._ **

The man, the soldat, turned back to watch you struggling to stand. The one with the shield had his hand to his ear, speaking quietly to nothing.

“Nat--” You lifted your head and a white-hot flash of pain greyed the world out completely.

 **_You_ ** **will** **_control your emotions, child, if it the last thing you learn here.’ A shadowy figure rose in front of you, leading you down a long corridor. He large hand dwarfed your own. The shadows felt like the would eat you alive if he let them. You suppressed a fearful whimper. The shadow man tossed you through one of the doors with enough force to send you into the dirt. He hauled you up again, laying you out on a cold, metal table in the center of the room. It was outfitted with durable, leather straps, conveniently precise to your wrists and ankles. A man in a white coat fastened them with a calm cruel that sent a chill down your spine. You didn’t know him._ **

**_‘Papa? What’s happening? I promise I’ll do better, I swear. Please, Papa, I’m scared.’_ **

**_He stepped forward, his face a formless hole of shadow sucking you into its depths._ **

**_‘You will do better. This man will make it so. After your treatment, we won’t have to worry about any more of these ridiculous outbursts from you.’ He brushed some hair off of your face with an incongruous gentleness. ‘Don’t worry, it will not hurt for long.’_ **

**_Something cold had been placed against your temples while he had been speaking. With a nod of his head, whatever it was set your head ablaze with white light, fed by the fire at your temples._ **

You clutched at your skull and moaned. The throbbing was nearly unbearable, increasing in frequency and intensity. It was making coherent thought nearly impossible.

Bucky watched you holding your head in your hands and swaying where you stood. He felt a certain sympathy for you, having an inkling of what you might be experiencing at the moment. It was all eerily similar to his own recent experience.

“Natty,” you groaned. Your body swayed just further than it was prepared for, tipping dangerously toward the floor.

Without thinking about it, Bucky’s arm shot out to steady you.

**_A fist was flying toward your face. ‘Punishment for your weakness, my child.’_ **

You flinched violently backwards away from the vision, away from him. Unfortunately, you were not aware of your close proximity to the wall and your head made a hollow clunk on impact.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as they closed and you fell forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave comments or kudos, it fuels my fire!


	3. Best Crisp Ever to Crisp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are brought back to the Avengers compound and interrogated, if you could call it that. Natasha helps you in more ways than one, but still you are faced with an existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everybody, buckle your seatbelts because this one's a doozy, clocking in somewhere around 6800 words. I'm sorry, I hope that it isn't a drag to read. Super fun to write, though, but still a little sticky in some places. While I was doing some research into Natasha's story arc with Bucky, I discovered that I have essentially hijacked it, so for any die-hard, comic readers out there I do most humbly apologise; that was not my original intention. However, the stuff after this gets fluffier, angstier, and generally more interesting to write so just hold tight.

“This feels a bit excessive,” you pouted at the handsomely dressed man standing next to Captain Rogers. They had locked you into a sturdy chair equipped with heavy duty metal restraints.

“You knocked two super soldiers on their asses without breaking a sweat. I think this is a perfectly reasonable safety precaution.”

The Captain coughed discreetly into his shoulder.

“What if I promised to play nice?”

“And when you decide that’s boring? Where would that leave us?” Rogers was frowning at you with the air of a disapproving grandfather. He also looked as though he would rather be on the other side of the glass.

“No dice, sweetheart.” The man you knew to be Tony Stark clapped his hands together. 

A grimace chased the confidence from your features before you reigned it back in. Stark caught the brief lapse, looking as if he might say something but Rogers shook his head.

_ 'Time for a change of subject,'  _ you thought. 

“So, where is Natasha, anyway? I would have thought she would have wanted to be here as soon as possible.”

Tony put his hand to his breast in feigned dismay. “Are we not good enough for you?”

You rolled your eyes, relaxing as low as you could in your restrictive throne. 

“As pretty as you are, Stark, intelligence gathering really isn’t your arena.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“You’re also about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, but I figured you were aware of this.”

“But you don’t deny it,” he persisted.

“Come on, Tony.” Rogers was failing to suppress a guilty look of pleasure, gently tugging the other man in the direction of the door. “She’s right.”

“Wait, you think I’m pretty, too? My, my, my, Capsicle. I never would have expected this confession from you after everything.”

“Don’t press your luck, Tony,” Natasha said, holding the door of the cell open for them. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ll get from any of us all year.”

“You wound me, Romanoff.” He allowed himself to be ushered away, but not before giving you a shrewd once over.

_ 'Their banter is friendly. That’s unexpected.' _

Sinking into silence, you watched her close the door behind them. She paused, taking a deep breath before turning to face you. 

_ 'She can’t possibly be nervous.' _

The silence persisted.

_ Waiting you out. Too easy.  _

She pulled a chair from the corner of the room and set it in front of you. After a moment of consideration, each watching the other carefully, she moved it closer and took her seat. Your knees were only a few inches apart.

_ More bait. Invasion of personal space makes people uncomfortable. _

You made a bit of a show of sizing her up, arching your eyebrow when her eyes met yours. Her face remained impassive. You wondered how much effort it was costing her not to roll her eyes. Probably about as much as it was for you to keep still.

**_Try harder._ **

It was unnerving not to be able to hear anything beyond the mirrored glass, though you were under no false impression of the room beyond it being anything but empty. The rooms like this that you had visited in the past hadn’t ever been so well soundproofed.

_ 'Stark and his money.' _

Having people watching you that you could neither see nor hear set your skin crawling. You felt like a lab rat, a feeling you were intimately uncomfortable with. It was all you could do not to squirm.

**_Focus._ **

_ Four video cameras covering each corner. No blind spots. Another on the other side of the glass for good measure. At least four people watching; the men from the flight and Stark.  _

All of your conditioning was screaming to use your knowledge of your aggressor to your advantage, to escape this building and return to base.

**_Failure is not an option._ **

They would give chase. Your employers would not like that. Leading the Avengers to their doorstep would mean punishment on a scale as yet unseen. Days of treatment and reconditioning. Even you could not take them all on at once. ‘ _ Been there, done that.’  _

The ache of exhaustion was creeping up your spine, though thankfully the pounding in your skull had subsided to a dull throb. With every breath it rooted deeper into your chest. Nothing you did now would change the outcome. 

_ Is it even worth returning? _

Glancing up at the mirror, you considered the people sitting beyond it. They seemed kind, sincere. Then again, first impressions are not always accurate.

_ ‘Natasha likes them,’ _ a small voice spoke from the deep recesses of your mind.  _ ‘She trusts them.’ _

_ ‘She abandoned us. She is the reason for... everything; Papa said so. She wants you to suffer. She did this to us.’ _

“We’re not all bad,” she finally spoke, eyes on your face.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.  _ ‘There is no way that she could have heard what you were thinking. That’s cheating.’ _

“Some people even call us the good guys.”

“That might depend on where you are sitting,” you wagered.

She nodded. “I suppose it does.”

More silence. This time you couldn’t keep yourself from fidgeting, but you didn’t drop your gaze.

“Do you enjoy killing people?” Your eyes widened but didn’t drop. Her face remained unreadable.

“What are you, my shrink?”

“Do you know how our classmates died?”

The air was thick with tension, palpable and heavy. If you had had a knife you were sure you could have cut through it, sliced it to pieces. Savaged it until it wasn’t so quiet anymore.

“They were shot,” you breathed.

“Yes, do you know by whom?”

**_Solemn young faces were lined up along the wall of the range. They didn’t cry, they were better than that. They just waited._ **

You shook your head in denial, no longer looking at the beautiful woman sitting across from you.

“See, the thing about Drakov was that he kept extensive records documenting every step of his training process in the hopes of passing it along when the time came. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t make it that far.”

**_Their eyes watched you, staring into the darkest crevices of your soul. They may not have been crying but you could feel the fear and sadness pouring off them._ **

“When I first got out, all of the way out, I went after him. Dug up all of the intel that I could until I found our old facility. It had been abandoned, of course, with him gone and the students dead. Their files were all still there, though. The tape of their deaths was the last entry.”

**_The shots flew true, landing precisely where they were meant to. You had not considered the implications of being brought to the shooting gallery that morning until much later. They were all lined up, a display of perfect, beautiful little dolls._ **

“The file that accompanied it contained only a brief report by the commanding officer on the day of the event. It said that the asset had performed admirably and was responding well to her treatment.”  She paused, watching you continue to shake your head.  “It continued to the effect that she had been ‘taken care of’ following the closure of the school. I couldn’t find your file anywhere, so I assumed the worst.”

“I didn’t.” Your voice cracked.

**_The last girl in the line nodded and closed her eyes, brave to the end. You fired. Papa’s words were ringing in your ears._ **

**_‘All of this is because of her. She wants this, wanted it all long. Weakness must be overcome before greatness can be achieved. She wanted you to be great. She did this.’_ **

“Unfortunately, ‘the worst’ for me then does not begin to describe the truth, does it?”

Still you shook your head, eyes squeezed tight against the kindness of her voice.

**_‘She did this my child. She wanted you to succeed here, this is what that means.’_ **

**_They dropped like marionettes without a master, belying the truth of the situation. Head knocked back against the wall, then dropped in a heap._ **

**_At some point during the ordeal you floated out of your body to observe it all from a great distance, separate from reality. You saw a young girl with a comically large rifle pressed into her shoulder, firing shot after shot without hesitation. Her face was cold as stone. Emotionlessly performing the part in which she had been cast. Dutifully executing the task. You could not see any of yourself in her. An imposter was wearing your skin in your place._ **

**_The man behind her had the look of a proud father watching his daughter performing a perfect pirouette for the crowd. His hand was resting protectively, proprietarily, on her shoulder._ **

**_Death lurked in the shadows; stalking him, waiting for its moment._ **

**_When the last puppet fell, he turned her to face him. He congratulated her for her progress, her skill, and her accuracy. You sank back into your body like a rock in a pond._ **

**_‘You did well, my child.’_ **

**_This was the most praise you had received in all the years you had been in his charge. It made your chest feel odd._ **

**_‘Yes, Papa._ **

“No,” you moaned, struggling against the restraints. “No, no, no. I didn’t. I didn’t, I swear. She did it. It was--” You finally raised your head to glare at her. “--You! You did this! You wanted me to be better. I had to be like you. It was your fault! It wasn’t me! It wasn’t! I DIDN’T DO IT, I DIDN’T! WHY DID YOU DO IT? WHY DID YOU GO?! It wouldn’t--I couldn’t--You left! You left us there. What were we supposed to do?”

You were throwing your back into the chair, thrashing violently, pulling at the cuffs with all of your force, but they wouldn’t budge. It lasted only a few moments before you were abruptly exhausted. Your chin bounced heavily onto your chest.

“What were we supposed to do? We wanted to be good. We were so good, always doing what he asked. I didn’t. I didn’t, I didn’t...”

Natasha hadn’t moved a muscle, listening to you mutter the same thing over and over again. Contrary to popular belief, her heart was not made of ice and it ached at the sight before her. She couldn’t stop now, though, with the work only half finished.

“You didn’t what, [Y/N]?” She sank from her chair to kneel in front of you with her hands on yours.

“I didn’t want to.” You moaned so low that she wouldn’t have heard if she wasn’t sitting so close. “It wasn’t me. They were my friends, my friends. He knew that. He told me what he needed, did what he needed, to stop me from caring. Pushed exactly the right button and that was all he had to do. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter...”

Natasha knew the answer to the next question. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, she knew, but she needed you to say it out loud for this to work.

“What did he tell you? What button did he push?”

“He--he said that--that you wanted me to, that it was what you wanted, he--. I wanted to be better for you, Natty. To be the best like you and he told me that _ that _ was how. He told me you wanted me to succeed and this was how it worked.”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks, spilling more rapidly when you brought your eyes up to hers. Your shoulders were shaking. 

“I hated you so much. How could you have wanted that. You made me weak, you made me do that. I was so scared.” The dawn of realization broke across your face. “I cared about you and you left. I was a mess, so he started my treatments. They were his revenge. I had to kill them to make sure the treatments worked, to be sure he still had control. He did this, didn’t he? I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to, I didn’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, Natty, I’m sorry. Natty, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you. You never have to do anything like that again, I promise.”

There was a metallic click and the restraints popped open. Natasha helped you out of the chair, not mentioning the chafe and bruises already forming where the chair had held you.

“How do you make it go away?”

The question was so soft and innocent that it took her a moment to respond.

“You don’t. Stuff like this doesn’t just disappear, so you live with it. Every day. You try to be better, to do better, and that helps. But it doesn’t go away.”

You didn’t look at her for a moment, standing in a tense silence while the weight of reality settled slowly over the two of you.

“Let’s get those looked at,” she finally said, indicating your wrists. When you didn’t immediately follow, she turned back to find you staring at your hands. “What’s up?”

“What do I do? How do I fix this? Where do I go?”

“Who said you had to go anywhere?”

“Wha--Well, I--I mean,” you stammered, looking between her and the window. “Would they let me?”

She sighed, propping the door open with hip so that she could properly cross her arms at you. “Do you want to do good?”

You nodded slowly.

“Are you committed to doing the right thing?” Another nod. “Do you promise not to intentionally hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it?”

“Yes, Natty, I--”

“Then I don’t see why they would have a problem with it. If they do, if any of them do--” She glared at the mirror. “--Then I invite them to pay me a visit.  You have to stop calling me Natty, though.”

“Can I call you Tasha?”

Rolling her eyes, she groaned. “I suppose. Now come on, med bay and then ice cream.”

She followed you out the door, directing you down a long and brightly lit corridor. Something trembled deep in your chest, a lurking disquiet unable to show its face in the brightness of the LEDs. You stuck a bit closer behind your guide, berating yourself for your silliness.

_ ‘There is nothing down here, stupid. It’s highly improbable that anything malicious would be lurking in Tony Stark’s basement.’ _

A set of clear double doors swept open as you approached, revealing a spacious medical ward and what looked like a research lab beyond it. Everything was glass and chrome, reflecting the blinding white light off of every surface, multiplying it to an unbearable intensity. 

“You okay?” You squinted and she came into focus in front of you.

“It’s just bright,” you grumbled, shading your eyes.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” she called out. “Dim the lights in medical, please?”

“Sure thing, Agent Romanoff.” The irish lilt startled you, seeming to come from the room itself. 

“She’s Tony’s AI, basically runs the place.” She led you to one of the white sheeted beds lining the wall. “Pretty handy, too. If you ever get lost or you’re looking for me, just ask her. Actually, do you mind if she does a quick scan?”

“I guess so, sure.”

Lights descended on you from the ceiling, running all over the surface of your body. Your eyes were wide with wonder, watching as your three-dimensional form was rendered on a screen next to your bed.

“Scan complete; multiple injuries detected. Dislocated shoulder, three broken ribs, and mild concussion requiring immediate attention.” The rendered version of you had flashing red areas matching her description. “I suggest pain management and immobilization. Shall I fetch Dr. Banner?”

Tasha nodded, turning a full-force Mum-glare on you.

_ ‘I forgot that face. How did I forget that face?’ _

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in this much pain?”

“Because I’m not, and you were holding me captive.” You gestured for her to help you. Bracing yourself against her with your other arm, you nodded and she began to pull your arm back into its socket. It feel into place with a sickening clunk.

“You could have said something after,” she chastised.

A soft, scruffy looking man  stepped around the curtain of your little area, picking at his fingers and hunching his shoulders. 

“Hey, Bruce,” Tasha greeted him without turning around, her voice softening. “Could you grab us a sling and some painkillers from the cabinet?”

“Sure.” His voice was soft and pleasant, carrying the same affectionate tone as hers.

_ They care for each other. Intimately. More than either one of them is aware. _

He returned with the supplies, hovering behind her and fiddling with a roll of tape. 

“Bruce, this is [Y/N],” she introduced, gesturing at you to remove your tactical jacket. “She’s going to be joining the team.”

_ He is shy. Friendly. Obviously wants to help. Not what you would expect from a man with his condition. _

“Hello.” He waved awkwardly, looking anywhere that wasn’t at you. 

_ Half naked women make him uncomfortable. He’s trying to preserve our modesty. _

You did your best not to laugh at that thought. Together, they taped up your ribs; he was carefully not touching your skin, only looking at what his hands were doing. He stepped back as soon as he was finished, eyes settling on the woman trying to talk you into taking the painkillers.

“I don’t need them, Tash. I’m fine.”

“You’re a rotten liar and you’re taking the pills.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Want to bet?” Her eyebrow was raised, hand on her hip. She was completely prepared to shove that thing down your throat if you didn’t cooperate.

“No sling.” Her eyes narrowed. “Pills or the sling, I won’t do both.”

“You need the sling, your shoulder is the colour of Bruce’s shirt.”

He tore his gaze from her to assess the truth of that statement.

“It’ll be normal in few hours. I don’t need the sling if you give me those.”

“You can’t just pick and choose how you let me take care of you. You’ll take the pills and wear the sling or so help me I’ll tape you up in bubble-wrap.”

“You don’t need to take care of me, I’m fine. I don’t need to be fussed over.”

“Take the pills, [Y/N],” Bruce interrupted. “You don’t have a choice.”

_ Tag team, impressive. _

“We care,” she said. “We don’t want you in any more pain than necessary.”

“But I can handle it. I’m fine.”

“I don’t care, you’re going to let me help you. Handling it on your own isn’t the only option anymore.”

Finally, you relented, seeing that it was a losing battle. Bruce still wasn’t looking at you directly.

“You can turn around, Dr. Banner. I won’t be offended.”

Natasha grinned at you as he spluttered. 

He finally turned around, relaxing into a light laugh. “Thank you.”

Your stomach growled loudly as she finished wrapping the abrasions on your forearms.

“When was the last time you ate?” The mum-look was back in full force.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, ignoring the protest from your shoulder. 

“Alright, I’m making you dinner. We can have ice cream for dessert. You coming with us, Bruce?”

“Oh, no. No. I’m fine. I--I have things, uh... Some things to catch up on. I’m okay.”

Natasha looked over at him, still facing away from the two of you. He was fidgeting and tense, almost seeming to shrink in front of them. Concern was twisting her face into a sad frown.

_ ‘She’s worried. He only wants to help people and sees himself as a part of the problem. Yet here I am, actively making a nuisance of myself over a couple of stupid pills.’ _

“I’ll wait for you in the hall, Tash.” You nodded her toward him and pulled your jacket on over the sling, making a show of swallowing the painkillers. 

The doors hissed shut behind you. Sitting down, you thought about their interaction. There was no reason for him to care about your well-being. It would make sense if he had sided with her to get on her good side, but he had to know he was already there, didn’t he? And he had seemed so sincere, a genuine desire to reduce other people’s pain radiating out of him. 

Tasha was the strongest person you knew yet she allowed herself to show unequivocally that she cared for you. She can’t be so lax in her training since leaving the Room not to realize you were watching her, observing every detail of every interaction, compiling the data for later use. Why would she have let you see her affection for that man? Tactically, it was suicide to show emotion, to feel it. It weakened your position, gave others power over you. 

_ ‘Why, then? Why, why, why?’ _ The questioned nagged you, disrupting your thought process.

She had allowed herself to become attached to these people. All of them, not just Bruce Banner. They were more to her than just teammates or coworkers. They were family. The playful banter between her and Stark came to mind, frustratingly honest and inescapable, though frankly slightly baffling.  _ ‘Why Stark? All accounts of his behaviour indicate their incompatibility.’ _

The man in the lab was someone she loved, that she would be sad to lose, but still she outmatched you. Had Papa been wrong? Was this kind of vulnerability not as detrimental to success as he had taught you? She continued to be stronger, regardless of her emotional affiliations here, perhaps even because of them.

_ ‘That’s ludicrous. Logically, becoming attached to someone distracts you from the objective. You can not be your best if you place someone’s safety as a higher priority than your orders. The mission always comes first.' _

But she had beaten you. They had helped her with the mission, performing the task  when she could not. They had worked together. Sharing the goal, and the burden of completing it, had made them stronger. A well-balanced team, all compensating for each other’s weaknesses. Protecting each other from you.

_ ‘Why are we still here?’  _ You had hurt them, actively tried to capture one of their teammates, but they had brought you to their home.  _ ‘Why?’ _ Did they really trust her that much?  You hadn’t known each other in years, decades. How could she have known you would want to change? Did you even know how?

_ ‘She did it,’ _ the small voice from earlier chipped in.  _ ‘She could help us.’ _

She had been the jewel of the Red Room. The best. The brightest. The most willing to perform. When she left, Papa had thrust those shoes onto your feet and ordered you dance. Was it possible she hadn’t been as obedient a daughter as you thought?

“You ready for food?” Her hand was extended toward you.

You nodded, not entirely present, and allowed her to pull you to your feet. She compensated for your silence by pointing things out while you walked; the garage, laundry, Tony’s work space. When the elevator doors closed behind you, she asked you what was wrong.

“I don’t have any other clothes.”

_ ‘Non Sequitur, anyone? What the fuck?’ _

She frowned, not missing the confusion flickering on your face. “Don’t worry about it, you can borrow some of mine and Wanda’s until we can get you some. Tony will be so happy to have somebody to dote on.”

“Can I shower before we eat?” The elevator doors opened again, sounds of happy chatter coming from the living area. You could just see the edge of a couch around the corner, crowded with people. Natasha pulled you away, down another door-lined hallway.

“No, sorry. I’m going to make you eat, and meet new people, with eau-de-creep all over you.” She smiled. “Of course you can. I’ll send Wanda over with the clothes while I get dinner started, okay?”

You nodded dumbly, still lost in thought. She directed you to the last door on the left.

“This will be your room. I’m two doors down across the hall; Wanda’s across from you, last on the right; and Steve is closest to the kitchen on my side. Feel free to bother any of us, whenever. We’re happy to help.”

It was enormous. The double bed sat in the center, under the window, with an end table and plenty of place to spare on either side. It felt luxurious compared to the bare cement walls and thin mattress of your previous accommodations. 

“Your bathroom is through there,” she said, pointing to the open door on your right. The closet on the other wall gaped like the maw of some hungry beast. “There should be soap and shampoo in there already, and the towels are under the sink.”

Suddenly, it was all you could not just strip right there. You mumbled your thanks and she left, squeezing your shoulder briefly on the way out.

Your skin felt like it was crawling under the tactical gear. You felt disgusting, contaminated, maybe even diseased. The weight of the last twenty-four hours sank into your bones as you shed your clothing. 

Turning the shower on, you waited for it to reach nearly scalding temperatures before stepping into it, relishing the cleansing burn of the water on your skin.

_ ‘Do I even deserve to be here after what I’ve done? I was never as strong as her. Ever. What makes me think I can change? She wants to introduce me to everyone but does she even know who she’s introducing? Do I? _

**_You are what you were made to be; useful only insofar as you perform as required._ **

The conversation from earlier swam into focus. Maybe that was why she wanted you to stay, she wanted to use your skills. It jelled better, with only one yawning hole in the middle of it.

_ ‘Why would they need you if they had her?’ _

You had been raised with the same training, and she had always outshone you there. What would be the point of keeping the knock off copy when you had the real deal. She was indisputably your superior, having gained more experience once she escaped.

Your head throbbed dully, memories of the other girls from the facility flashing across your vision.

**_Let this serve as a reminder to you, my child. These are the consequences of allowing your emotions to run unchecked._ **

They couldn’t know who you are, not if they were so amenable to your presence here. They must not have had all of the requisite information for the mission last night, they had not been prepared for you. Why would they let you stay if they had? Why would they let you stay now they did know? That was only one event, the first of many. 

You were horrified with yourself, the things that you had done. There was no forgiveness for behaviour like yours. _ ‘Who am I?’ _

**_The man’s lifeblood soaked the floor in a puddle. Arms gauntleted in crimson._ **

**_‘These shoes will have to be burnt,’ you thought distantly._ **

**_He had struggled valiantly but in vain. You were an inexorable curse to those you were set upon. The reason for your involvement here was unknown. Not your place to know. You did as you were told or you were sent for a treatment. You were often sent for a treatment anyway, but that did not lessen the weight of the threat._ **

The memory faded but the image of the blood lingered, thick to your elbows. It left a streak on the wall when you reached out to steady yourself. Your breathing quickened as you scrubbed frantically, but it wouldn’t come off no matter how hard you worked at it. 

“Hello?” You froze. The unfamiliar voice was distinctly feminine, coming from the room beyond. “Natasha sent me with clothing for you. She says supper is almost ready.”

_ Wanda. Keep quiet and she’ll leave. _

“Are you alright?” Footsteps approached the bathroom door. “I can help you, or I can get Nat if you would prefer.”

“I’m... fine. I will be there in a minute.”

“It’s not real, you know. The blood.”

You whirled to face her, hair whipping water erratically with the sudden movement. In the door frame stood a young girl with long hair and a gentle look about her face. You gaped open-mouthed. The blood on your hands seemed to glared accusingly at you. It looked real.

“It’s not. You’re exhausted, injured, and terrified. Your mind is lashing out at you, trying to protect itself. Would you like me to help you?”

Turning the water off, you watched her carefully, searching for any sign of deceit.

“Why? How?”

The gentle sympathy didn’t waver. She reached over to hand you the towel from the counter. “You are in pain. Who am I to leave you to suffer alone when I have the ability to ease it? I would be no better than the men who hurt you.”

Your eyes were still narrowed. Warily, you wrapped yourself in the soft cotton and sank down onto the toilet lid. She crouched in front of you and took your hands in her small ones.

_ ‘She’s dainty. Small and strong, like them.’ _

“I am sorry for listening without your permission before. I will enter your mind now, if it is alright? It won’t hurt, but it can be confusing.”

You nodded, equal parts cautious and curious.

“Just relax.”

When nothing happened immediately, you toyed with the possibility that she was having you on, but then a string of red mist extended from her fingertips to your chest. 

_ ‘Interesting. She must be Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch.’ _

Lifting your hand into it, you marveled at its texture and warmth. A swath of it wrapped around the raised limb, peeling away the image of blood to reveal your own skin, freshly abraded chafe marks red and angry. 

“Woah,” you breathed. “H-How did you--?” Finding yourself incapable of finishing the question, you waved your hands between you instead.

“I am... gifted, in a way.” She rolled a little ball of red energy around her fingers. “An experiment of men playing with things this did not completely understand. Like you.”

“I can’t do anything like that.” The ball of red light exploded into a small firework before your eyes and she smiled.

“No, but you do have talents beyond the training both you and Natasha received. Like us, you can use those abilities against the types of people who have been controlling you all your life.”

An image rose in your head, ringed in the same red mist. It was of you in the hotel room last night, one of the moments you had not been entirely aware of. The angle was wrong though, you were not watching from above as was expected, but through the eyes of someone else. They were thrown backward into their teammate, Barnes, while you knocked Captain Rogers backward in a blur of untraceable movement.

“Natasha thought you may have been tested on like Barnes and myself. She noticed right away that what you were able to do went beyond just physical training. You are not as fast as my brother was, or as strong as those two soldiers, but we think it is possible that you can do more than any normal person.”

“They didn’t,” you said as the memory dissolved. “They never gave me anything like they gave Barnes. I saw his file. Papa worked closely with HYDRA, and they were very proud of their work with the Winter Soldier. They offered the serum to us but Papa said no genetic experimentation was allowed, that they were perfect without it.”

“They were, but you were always a bit of a handful, weren’t you?” Natasha was standing in the open doorway. “They could have wiped your memory of it. Barnes says that was one of their favourites.”

“No, they couldn’t, they tried. It disrupted my treatments, wiped the conditioning out of my system. It wasn’t worth it, they said.”

She didn’t respond, her eyes shrewd and considering. “You should get dressed, the boys are going to eat your food if we take much longer.” 

The mention of supper set your stomach growling with renewed energy. Quickly pulling on some of you borrow clothes, you followed them out to the kitchen. The sounds of chatter and laughter audible the moment you stepped out of the bedroom.

Rogers and Barnes were sitting at the island's breakfast bar, Sam was poking around in the fridge, and Stark was overseeing the preparation of something by two men you hadn’t encountered yet. The taller of the two was mixing ingredients in a bowl that smelled of flour and brown sugar, while the other was chopping apples and tossing them into a pan. 

“As if you would know anything about it, Tony,” Sam was saying. “When have you ever successfully baked anything in your life?”

“Never, but I’m sure he’s doing it wrong.” Stark winked it you, still hovering.

“Why is Vision doing the hard part, Clint,” Tasha laughed, placing a plate of pasta in front of the chair next to Steve. “Of all of the people I asked to help, you would think you’d be doing it.”

“He insisted he wanted to learn. It’s not like I’m not standing right here in case he needs me.” The man named Clint continued chopping the last of the apples.

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, Mr. Barton.”

“Tony’s the real problem here.” Sam reemerged from the depths of the fridge holding a stick of butter like a trophy. “He’s backseat baking.”

“As ever.” Natasha rolled her eyes, shoving the well-dressed man playfully out of the kitchen.

“We wanted to make you feel properly welcomed, Miss [Y/N],” Vision said, turning to face you. He had a cloud of flour on the front his sweater.

“I--Um, thank you?” You tucked your hands awkwardly under your thighs, observing the bedlam. Steve chuckled gently next to you. “What are you making?”

“Agent Romanoff--” Tasha cleared her throat. “Apologies. Natasha suggested apple crisp for its simplicity.”

“It tastes great with ice cream, too.” Sam grinned at you, slicing off a chunk of butter and dropping it into the bowl in Vision’s hands. 

“Okay.”

“Is that dissatisfactory, Miss [Y/N]? We could prepared something else.”

“No, it’s okay,” you insisted.

“Do you not like apple crisp?” Steve sounded confused.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had it.”

All movement stalled for a moment, the men looking at you in awe. Tony appeared personally affronted.

“Never?” Rogers broke first, watching you carefully. You shook your head.

“This is a travesty!” Stark’s face was animated but without malice. “We will make you the best apple crisp ever to crisp! I will make sure of it. You will learn to appreciate one of America’s finest contributions to the dessert community.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as a dessert community.” You widenned your eyes innocently.

“There isn’t,” Sam began, sounding annoyed. Seeing your grin, he laughed. “Oh-ho! Cheeky, I like it.”

The tension in your body evaporated with the laughter. Everyone proceeded to take turns recommending food for you to try. As it turned out, Clint had the most bizarre tastes of any of them, something Tasha had been quick to mention in retaliation for his declaring white chocolate inedible. It ranged from jam and egg sandwiches to pickles, peanut butter, and cheese. Everyone had looked askance at that particular combination, but you made note to try it some time.

Barnes was noticeably absent from the discussion, only humming occasionally in agreement with some of Steve’s suggestions from ‘the good old days.’ You weren’t the only one to notice, either; Sam was listing increasingly disgusting combinations in an effort to provoke the man. He was holding his own, only glaring and grunting at the object of his annoyance. No one else seemed to have noticed their side conversation. 

Your stomach growled loudly, antagonized by the delicious smells of baking apples and cinnamon wafting around the kitchen. It got Steve’s attention.

“Why aren’t you eating your pasta? Do you not like it?”

“I don’t have any cutlery,” you replied simply, gazing longingly at the plate of food before you.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Vision, grab her a fork, will you?”

Tucking your feet in to sit cross legged on your chair, you smiled. “Everyone was having so much fun, I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, I am eager to hear Barnes’ thoughts about whether mayonnaise, hot sauce, and licorice is palatable.”

Sam snickered, nudging the man he had been harassing for the last several minutes. Clint shuddered from his perch atop the counter. 

Receiving your fork, you dug in, the delicious noodles satisfying the howling monster your stomach had become. 

“Really?” Steve was eyeing his friend distrustfully. “I don’t know if I can be your friend anymore, Wilson.”

“No, no,” he chuckled. “It’s gross, man. I hate licorice.”

“Why, then?”

“Buckster here was being especially quiet, quieter than normal, I mean. Just trying to make sure he feels included, you know?” His grin was cheeky.

Barnes looked supremely uncomfortable having so many eyes on him all at once.

A quiet exchange passed between the two soldiers, Sam observing carefully. The volume of the room slowly climbed back to normal levels.

_ Their relationship is antagonistic, but it doesn’t lack affection. The teasing is just a smokescreen for Wilson’s attempts to make Barnes feel included, like he’s one of the team. It’s hard to tell how aware of it he is though, or if he thinks he’s truly just being a pest.  _

The timer for the dessert chimed and everyone jumped into action. Wanda grabbed the oven mitts and pulled the pan out, Tasha got plates, Vision fetched the forks, while Clint and Tony graciously vacated the crowded space in favour of the living room. Steve and his two friends continued their moment out of the limelight.

_ The biggest person in the room wanting to be inconspicuous. He’s like Banner.  _

Sympathy blossomed in your chest. You had unintentionally done something cruel. Guilt followed quickly, choking the air from your lungs.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered to Steve. 

Getting up, you brought your plate around the island to the sink and began to wash it. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, following your movements, but when you refused to raise your gaze he returned to fussing over Barnes.

Just as you set about finding a towel to dry your dish, the hubbub behind you settling, someone clapped their hands onto your shoulders. Every muscle in your body screamed to defend itself.

_ ‘There is no need to make a scene.  It’s not possible that someone could have taken out everyone behind you with no one noticing. They’ve treated you well to this point, no need to freak out about nothing and have them looking at you sideways for the rest of forever. Calm. Down.’  _

Your eyes had flown up, wildly trying to ascertain the origin of the threat. _ ‘It’s probably just Tony, as bad as he is, he doesn’t deserve to be thrown around his own kitchen.’  _

Barnes was watching you, looking as tense as you felt, though his eyes were gentle. He seemed to be trying to communicate something, but you were too far past freaked to read it properly.

“What are you doing? Don’t worry about it, just stick it in there.” A tanned hand with what looked like engine grease caked under the fingernails directed your attention to metal door tucked under the counter to your right. He pulled it open to reveal two racks partially full of soiled dishes.

“Oh.” Your voice stuck in your throat. “Sorry. It’s clean now though.”

“That’s okay,” he said, squeezing your shoulders once before moving around you. He didn’t seem to be aware, or at the very least he was unconcerned by how stiff you were. “Now you know.”

James’ eyes were brown wells of confusing emotions. Was he scared? Concerned? Angry? You couldn’t tell. Possible all three.

“Where does it live, then?” You asked, finally breaking eye contact to watch Stark heading back into the living room.

Wanda gently prised it from your fingers, stacking it with its kin in the corner cabinet.

_ ‘Noted.’ _

Natasha herded the stragglers into the living room, Vision and Wanda helping her to hand out the dessert as everyone settled in.

They tried to get your opinion on what film to watch but you just shrugged and shook your head. Sandwiched between Wanda and Tasha with a bowl of deliciousness in your lap, any further decisions just seemed too unwieldy to consider. Exhaustion was settling in again, liquefying the bones of your limbs, and then your spine, until your eyes felt leadened with it. You readjusted one last time, leaning into Tasha’s comforting warmth, before you dropped into oblivion.


	4. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We step inside James Barnes' head, seeing the world, and his confusing home life, from his perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Righty-O! This one is long again, I do apologise. It also skips some time blocks because nothing interesting happens, but I promise we are only ever moving forward. Also, I love the sibling dynamic between Sam and Bucky, but being an only child i only have second-hand knowledge so please let me know if something appears unrealistic there. 
> 
> Fun, fun, fun!  
> See you all next week! Xox, Pads.

Her face was haunting him. Pain, terror, anger, denial, confusion, and more recently laughter and affection, all contrasting heavily with the blankness of unquestioning duty. There was an ocean deep well of feeling concealed behind some force foreign to its host. 

The worst had been the moments of icy impassiveness, face shuttering into a carefully controlled mask, revealing nothing. Her demeanor had shifted to become something that was  no longer human but a fabricated simplification, designed to do expressly as they had been bid. She had been cold and emotionless and it had not suited her. Her face was made to be alive with the warmth of feeling he saw now, watching her watch everyone else. 

In the observation room earlier, he had watched the proceedings while silently fuming. It was unlike him to become so fixated. Less than twelve hours before, she had been actively working to return him the horrors of his past, horrors he had only just managed to escape. That should have warranted at least a little resentment or distrust from him, but it did not. 

He had thought Steve hadn’t noticed his aggravation, but that would have been too easy. Stevie always noticed. Seventy years they had been apart and still he knew Bucky better than anyone. He wasn’t insensitive, though, leaving him to his thoughts, never pressing for an explanation. He probably would have let him stew until much later, when no one was around to overhear, had nothing prompted an intervention. 

Bird-brain was more difficult. Noticing that he had been behaving even more sullenly than usual, he had begun harassing him. That may be too harsh. Bucky knew it came from a good place, that the annoying sibling routine was just his weird way of trying to help him feel included. Wilson wasn’t a malicious person but his timing had been inconvenient.

Fidgeting, he shifted further into the corner of the couch, pulling his leg up in front of him. The television was playing some ‘classic movie’ from the nineteen eighties, at Clint and Tony’s insistence. 

He had felt her eyes on him in the kitchen, even with the bulk of Steve sitting between them. From the moment she had entered behind Natasha, she had been watching him out of the corner of her eye. There had been no cause for it as far as he was concerned. He had done nothing unusual in her presence. So he was quiet, there were no rules against that. Not everyone had to be talking all the time. 

_ ‘Fucking Sam.’ _

She had been uncomfortable; everyone’s eyes on her, silently questioning her unwillingness to just ask for cutlery. They hadn’t understood that she was unused to this kind of interaction. It was unfamiliar territory for her. So, in a blind effort to remove herself from the center of attention, she had redirected it onto him.

_ ‘There was no way she could have known that I would be so uncomfortable in the spotlight,’ _ he reminded himself, shifting his back deeper into the back of the couch. He could see her next to Natasha, not paying much attention to the film, either.

He had seen her remorse in the set of her brows and the tension in her shoulders.  She had not raised her eyes from the dish in the sink. Sympathy had clawed at his chest, inviting unfamiliar emotions to join its assault on his mind. 

That had not been as painful as the expression on her face when Stark had come up behind her, invading her personal space. Her eyes had flown up in shock to find him watching her, fear and aggression mingling into a strange cocktail of emotion. The desire to react, to protect oneself, to eliminate the perceived threat, battled fiercely against her rational mind. She had been terrified, tensed to attack her aggressor but aware that it would be an overreaction. Tony had pressed on, not removing his hands from her shoulders while he remonstrated her, not unkindly. Though, through the whole ordeal, her eyes hadn’t left his own, and Tony had remained completely unaware of her distress. His chest had felt like it would burst, tension banding around it, restricting his breathing. He had tried to wordlessly reassure her of her safety but he wasn’t certain that it had worked.

Frowning, he slouched further into the couch. 

Steve nudged him with his elbow, questioning. Bucky shook his head, grimacing at the highschool drama playing out on-screen. 

Another nudge. He sighed, shrugging minutely. His friend settled.

A smile tickled the corner of his mouth.  _ ‘He never changes, always looking out for everyone else.’ _

The nightmares would be bad tonight, fueled by the emotional turmoil of the past twenty-four hours. It had been a long fucking day. 

They had managed to catch a couple of hours of sleep before the assignment yesterday, anticipating it running into the wee hours. They hadn’t expected having to work so hard to complete it, though. Their intel on the her had been woefully inadequate. 

Remembering her arching into Steve in only her underclothes, and the resulting expression on his face, drew a snicker.  _ ‘Poor Stevie would never have been prepared for that.’ _

He glanced around the room, looking at the absurd family that he had been dragged into. A odd bunch of spies, soldiers, and experiments run amok. Everyone was sitting exactly where they always did on movie nights when they had a full house. Clint and Sam were on the floor in front of Natasha and Steve. Wanda was in the corner of the big U-shaped couch closest to the kitchen, her feet in Vision’s lap. Natasha next to Steve who was on Bucky’s right, Tony lounging at the end near his feet. The only change was the new-comer wedged between the two girls in the other corner. 

From his vantage point, wedge deep into his corner of the couch, he could only just see her arm draped intimately across Nat’s lap. Her sleeve was rucked up past her elbow to reveal the still violently purple bruises braceleting her forearm. 

The memory of her thrashing around in that blasted chair returned, along with the burning discomfort he had felt at the time. The interrogation had not been so much of a  gathering of intelligence as a psych eval, and not something he had been comfortable observing. It had made him feel foul to watch someone experience the same mental and emotional struggle that he had gone through only a couple of years ago with his best friend. Knowing that she knew that they were behind the glass had only made it worse. He had wondered how much of the pain she had felt, pulling so hard, but she had not hesitated or given any sign of discomfort. 

Tony had made a reference to an exorcism, or an exorcist, grinning proudly when he and Steve hadn’t understood. From Sam’s resulting chuckle, it must have been some cultural phenomena they had missed. He had not understood completely but he could definitely see the parallels between the sight before them and the old ghost stories of his childhood.

Steve’s eyes were on him again, noticing his eyes on the new girl. He shook his head, returning his gaze to the teen drama playing out on screen without really seeing it.

It was going to be a long, difficult night. He hoped Stark’s soundproof walls were as good as he said they were, he did not want to disturb anyone else’s slumber because he couldn’t get a grip on himself.

A hand tapped his leg and Steve leaned back slightly so that Bucky could see what he was gesturing at. The new girl was fast asleep and curled into Natasha’s side, the same arm he had noticed before wrapped snugly around her waist. Her exposed bruises looked almost black in the low light and he wondered how she hadn’t broken anything.

Nat pressed a finger to her lips, smiling softly.

There was a click of a camera and Bucky caught Stark tucking his phone discreetly back into his pocket. He glared at him, jostling the man’s artfully crossed legs with his foot. 

‘For later,’ Tony mouthed at him, winking.

If he had been sleeping on someone like that, he would hope Steve would have the good sense to break the person’s camera for him. Sam would be the most likely suspect, leaping on any opportunity to embarrass him.  _ ‘Fucking Sam.’ _

A few moments later, the credits rolled on the television, cueing the restless movement of people leaving their seats.

“Steve,” Natasha whispered. “Can you help me put her to bed?”

“Sure.” Steve stood up, stepping around Sam and the girls’ feet to Nat’s other side. The cushion dipped slightly under his knee and he rolled her gently into his arms.

Bucky’s chest tightened at the sight of her doll-like form curled against Steve’s chest. She looked so small and child-like compared to him. Her face was soft and peaceful, not how it had been before.

“She’s at the end, on the left.” Nat followed him down the hall, opening the door for him.

The clock on the stove read just after eleven.  _ ‘Might as well try to get as much sleep as possible before the inevitable,’ _ he thought to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. 

His left arm felt as if it was made of lead, the weight of the day dragging heavily on it, pulling spine out of alignment along with it.

“You alright,” Steve asked, stopping him outside of his room. 

“Yeah, ‘m just tired.”

“I’m here if you need me, Buck.” His face was full of earnest concern. 

It hurt him to look for too long, like staring into the sun. He sighed, opening his door. “I know, Stevie.”

Pausing to listen to his friend’s heavy footfalls receding down the hall, he looked at the door of the next suite over, the last one on the left. It was cracked, no light coming from the space visible beyond it. Focussing, he could hear breathing and the light thrum of a heartbeat.

He shook his head to clear it, closing his door behind him. Her blank gaze flickered across his thoughts, disrupting their rhythm. Going to the bathroom, he grabbed a spare towel and shoved it against the gap at the bottom of the door to dampen any escaping sound. It was going to be a very long night.

Dawdling, he opened the window, took his time showering and changing into his sleep pants, even pulling another plush blanket from his closet. Eventually, he resigned himself to face the unpleasantness that was sure to come when he closed his eyes. The familiar weight of his may comforters settling over him, he took care to relax himself completely before allowing sleep to pull him under.

When he woke, he was shivering and drenched in sweat. The sheet was clinging to his damp skin, tangled around his limbs. None of the blankets had survived on the bed.

_ ‘No wonder I’m so fucking cold.’ _

The small alarm-clock on his night stand read half three, its arms mocking him. It seemed to know that he felt he had been trapped in the sickening haze of memory for much longer than a few hours. Not yet completely awake, he set about his ritual of cleaning up the aftermath of his dream by stripping the sheets from the mattress and setting them by the door with his sweaty sleepwear. Only when that had been taken care of did he shower.

He prefered the nights that he had time to wash the reek of panic off of himself before contemplating human contact. The times he woke to Steve’s face hovering anxiously over him were lost in the discomfort of drying sweat and knowing that he was making a problem of himself for those he cared about. It did not matter how many times Steve insisted that he didn’t mind, that he only wanted to help, still it weighed on him. If he could avoid inflicting himself anyone, he would.

Feeling more himself after the shower, he donned his workout clothes and left the room. No need to wake Steve. 

The hallway was dark, shadows pressing in from all sides, distant glow of the city barely visible out the windows at the end. None of the lights were on in the kitchen either, the corridor disappearing into oblivion. Thanks to HYDRA, Bucky could see better than the average person in low-light, heightened awareness compensating for what he couldn’t.

Seeing the girl’s door closed, he wondered if it had been her or if someone had closed it after he had gone to bed. 

_ ‘Not that it matters,’  _ he chided himself.  _ ‘She’s Nat’s concern, not yours.’ _

The sound of a latch clicking open echoed in the quiet corridor, pausing his silent progression down the hall and turning toward the noise. She was lit from behind by the dim light of what was probably her bedside lamp, casting a distorted shadow on the wall across from her room. He halfway down the hall, lurking uncomfortably just out of the light but he knew she must be able to see him. 

“Hello,” he said, keeping his voice to a low murmur. 

Her posture was taut as a tripwire and just as still. She was watching him, but he couldn’t see her face clearly enough to make out any expression.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Evidently this had not been the right thing to ask because she flinched into the doorframe, stumbling backward and closing the door.

_ ‘Weird. I should wake Natasha.’ _ He dithered for a moment, unwilling to trouble anyone.  _ ‘She seemed pretty spooked. It’s her first night in a strange place full of people she doesn’t know. She doesn’t deserve to be abandoned if she’s scared.’ _

Sighing, he stepped up to Nat’s door and knocked softly. Being a notoriously light sleeper, she opened before he had a chance to do so again, regarding him with open curiosity.

“What’s up, Barnes?”

“I think I scared her,” he spoke bluntly, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Did she say anything?” Her voice was ripe with concern, immediately catching his meaning. When he shook his head, she sighed heavily. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“Sure, you’d have done the same for me, getting Steve I mean.”

She pushed past him, nodding.

“I hope she’s okay,” he mumbled after her before moving back in the direction of the kitchen.

When he reached the end of the hall, he paused, listening to her knocking at the door and calling her friend’s name softly.

_ ‘I hope she isn’t scared of me.’ _ The thought was absurd. 

What did it matter if she was scared of him? He was a monster, a couple of years with the Avengers couldn’t change that truth. Despite being reminded endlessly by almost everyone here that his actions were not his fault, he still loathed himself for being party to the events of his past. Being able to remember everything only made the situation that much more unpleasant. It was better than the alternative, though. At least now he knew why people found him so abhorrent, it was something he could understand.

Steve would be pissed if he could hear what he was thinking right now. 

_ ‘He has enough on his plate after everything that has happened. He shouldn’t have to worry about me any more than he already does.’ _

Filling his water bottle, he made his way over to the elevator, briefly contemplating going to the roof to look at the stars. He wouldn’t, he never did, but he always considered it. 

Selecting the gym floor when the lift arrived, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. The coolness of the glass soothed the ball of nerves building in his stomach. 

_ ‘It is not your problem, Barnes,’ _ he reminded himself when his thoughts returned to the girl he had seen in the dark.  _ ‘She has Natasha, she’ll be okay. You can’t help her by getting involved.’ _

When morning came, Bucky was still beating the snot out of one of the punching bags. Steve had introduced him to the therapeutic effects of boxing when he had come to the compound from Wakanda, the satisfaction of splitting the heavy bags had no equal as far as he was concerned.

“Sergeant Barnes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted his mindless violence. “Captain Rogers would like me to inform you that there is breakfast in the kitchen if you are interested.”

He grunted, continuing his assault on the canvas.

A few minutes later, she spoke again. “He would like me to remind you that it is after seven and he will come to check on you if you do not respond.”

Bucky snorted, stopping the bag mid-swing. “Tell him I’ll be up in a minute.”

Chugging the last of his water, he made for the elevator. His stomach growled in agreement. Its doors opened to reveal a haggard Tony leaning in the corner.

“Frosty,” Stark greeted him, not moving.

He nodded a wordless acknowledgement, shrinking into the other corner. Images of Howard and Maria invaded his thoughts as they always did when he was alone with their son.

“Stop think so hard, Elsa, it’s not good for you.” Tony looked exhausted but friendly. It was a pleasant, if confusing change from his usual, grudging acceptance of his presence. 

“I could say the same about you, Stark.” He gave him a casual once over.

“It’s Tony, Ice-Princess.”

Frowning, Bucky eyed him suspiciously, but the opening of the doors saved him from having to respond to the correction. Both men exited the small space without looking at one another. 

In the kitchen, Steve and Sam were cooking a mountain of pancakes and eggs, piling them into two serving dishes next to the stove. On the table were bowls filled with different types of fruit and toppings, including a couple of cans of whipped cream. 

“Trying to bankrupt me, Cap?” Tony took his seat at the head of the table, helping himself to some of the blueberries from the bowl in front of him. 

“Ha-ha, as if,” Sam smirked, setting the dish of cakes down on the table. 

Steve was blushing. “I figured, since everyone’s here this morning, and having a new member, we should have a good breakfast for once. As a group.” 

“I think it’s sweet,” Clint said, pouring himself a large mug of coffee. “You’re like a proud dad.”

“Is she up yet?” Bucky grabbed the platter of eggs from Steve, following him to the dining area.

“Wanda went in to wake her up.”

“Why not just ask F.R.I.D.A.Y.? That’s what she’s here for.”

“I didn’t want to freak her out, Tony. She likes Wanda.”

Bucky frowned at Steve’s tone, it implied something more was going on. He wasn’t the only one that noticed, but everyone else was behaving as if everything was normal.

“Oi!” A slap rang out, breaking the tension. “Make your own, bird-boy!” 

“You have plenty right there. Sharing is caring,  _ Hawkeye _ .”

“The other carafe is on the top shelf with the mugs,” Steve supplied, grinning cheekily at his friend.

“You should know better by now, Tweety-bird.”

Sam grumbled but set about making more without further complaint.

Bucky watched them all settle into their usual routine, laughing and talking with their mouths full. It was unsettling how much they behaved like an odd, semi-functional family, despite how violent their lives were on the day-to-day. Earth’s mightiest heroes squirting whipped cream into each other’s mouths and missing horribly, laughing at the resulting bad jokes and Steve’s reaction to them. It amazed him that only a couple of years ago they had been divided. 

“Hey, bud,” Steve interrupted his train of thought, “you alright?”

He hummed. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“Uh-oh, should I be concerned?” His eyes were sparkling.

“Always, Stevie.” Bucky grinned, his friend’s face splitting open to match.

“Was last night a bad one?”

“It was, but the morning makes up for it.”

The concern was back, clouding the stunning blue-green of his eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“It was rough night, Steve, not the end of the world. No use you losing sleep over a bad dream or two. It’s getting better.”

“Really? Are you just saying that?”

“Would it help if I said no?” He waggled his eyebrows but Steve just glared at him. “It was just a shitty day.”

“The interrogation?”

Bucky watched as Tony tried to spray cream into Clint’s coffee, getting smacked with the flat of a knife for his efforts. “All of it,” he finally spoke, not looking at the man next to him. “The mission, the hotel, the ride back. All of it. Watching her throw you and Nat around, her face when she was in that chair. She was fighting some kind of programming. Not the same as mine, but something similar. It was like watching two people with the same face.”

“Are you worried she’ll flip, like you did?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I don’t know, Steve.” His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. “Sorry. I just--I don’t know.”

Natasha rounded the corner from the bedrooms, her face dark. Without a word, she grabbed a plate and began dishing eggs onto it. 

Steve leaned over to talk to her, the others continuing their conversation while obviously keeping an ear on the proceedings of theirs. “What’s the word?”

“I found her in the closet last night, curled up at the bottom under a mountain of blankets. It took me almost an hour to convince her she could come out.”

“What happened?” He tossed a stack of pancakes onto the plate next to the eggs. 

“She said she had a nightmare, but wouldn’t tell me what about. When I asked what happened in the hallway, she clammed right up and started shaking. I don’t think she got more than a couple of hours of sleep in total.”

Bucky’s inside felt like they had been frozen solid, listening stiffly as they spoke next to him.

“Do you need me to come by?”

“No, too many faces right away might freak her out even more. We’ll see how she feels after she’s slept.” She patted him gently on the shoulder before departing, three cups of coffee in hand and plate of food balanced on her arm.

Steve watched her go, looking concerned.

 

A week passed without incident, no one mentioning the absence of their newest recruit and their two female members. Steve was invited into the room at the end of the hall a couple days into the girl’s self-imposed segregation and was hardly seen after that. Even when he had other matters to attend to, he always made time to stop by at least twice a day. 

Every night that Bucky found himself awake and wandering the halls, he cast a glance at the closed door adjacent to his, wondering what was going on behind it. This thought was invariably followed by mental self-check, trying to suss out why he cared so deeply. On the nights he and Steve ended up awake at the same time, he invited him down to the gym for a spar. They never spoke about why they were both up at such a ridiculous hour in the morning, looking for something to occupy their minds. Both knew the other was suffering, but neither wanted to burden their friend with their own problems.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam had just returned from an early morning run and were laughing and tussling amiably around the island when [Y/N] entered behind Natasha. She was wearing a hilariously oversized sweatshirt that, upon closer inspection, looked suspiciously like one of Steve’s favourites. It dwarfed her. Her hair had also been tied back in a pair of twin braids that were leaving damp spots on her shoulders. 

“Well,” Sam said, smiling at her. “Aren’t you adorable.”

“She’s cuter than you, any day, Sammyboy,” Natasha fired back, placing a pot of water on the stove. 

“You’re not wrong there. You feeling better, sunshine?”

“Yes,” she replied, watching them all carefully. Her expression cycled rapidly between emotions before settling on carefully controlled, quiet observation. “Thank you for the sweater, Rogers.”

“I told you to call me Steve.”

“You know, one of my sweaters would probably fit you better?” Sam was eyeing the sleeves that were dangling past the tips of her fingers. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed at the implications of his statement.

“What would be the use in that?” She raised her brows innocently before dropping him a wink and going to stand by Natasha at the stove. They spoke in low tones, steeped in unspoken affection. “What are you making?”

“Oatmeal. It’s good for you, and it tastes great with ice cream. Do you boys want any?”

They all voiced their assent. 

Bucky found himself unable to take his eyes off of the younger one as she wrapped her arms around the other woman’s waist, resting her head on her shoulder to watch her cook. Natasha did not object to the gesture as would have been customary, shifting into it instead. They seemed unaware of the others in the room.

“What do you put in it?”

“Oats and water.” She chuckled when her friend smacked her lightly. “Cinnamon and sugar are the staples, but you can add whatever suits you fancy. Some people like fruit and cream, or raisins, all sorts of things. Clint likes chocolate chips.”

“What do you like?”

“Depends on the day. Today I’m thinking coconut and applesauce, with the ice cream on top. Sound good?”

“I trust your judgement.” She squeezed Natasha affectionately before moving to jump onto the counter in the corner. “What are you boys whispering about over there?”

Sam snickered. “We were discussing the likelihood of Barnes ever cutting his hair.” He mimed a pair of scissors advancing on the brown locks trailing over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Screw off, Wilson.”

“Twenty bucks says the more  _ you _ ,” Nat pointed her wooden spoon at Sam, “keep bugging him about it, the longer he’ll grow it.”

“I know.” The glee in his voice had Bucky’s hackles raising. “Tony bet me fifty it wouldn’t last another six inches.”

His right hand wound into the long hair brushing his collar bones, tugging on them self-consciously. He had mixed feelings about the length of his hair. On the one hand, it was a constant reminder of his past when he looked at his reflection. On the other, it was nice to have a physical reminder that he was not the same man he had been before the war.

“Leave the poor guy alone, Sam.” Steve was watching the anxiety building in his friend, manifesting in the uncharacteristic fidgeting.

“Yeah, Sam,” Nat echoed. “If he wants to be a hundred-year-old hippy, who are we to judge?”

“I think it looks good.” Kicking her feet like a kid, She was watching his reaction intently. 

“Really?” Sam looked askance at her.

“Sure. It’s unusual, not even remotely regulation. I’ve seen photos of you during the war, and from your dossier. This is better.”

“Really,” Natasha drew the word out, filling it with her intrigue. 

“Yes? HYDRA worked closely with our facility after you left. We were required to familiarize ourselves with its assets on the off chance we might work with them in the future.”

“But you like his hair long,” she clarified, removing the pot from the burner.

“Oh,” she looked down at her knees, emotions flitting rapidly across her face. “Yeah. So do you.”

“Wait,” Steve interjected, looking between the two women and Bucky. “What?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes dangerously. “You are cruising for a bruising, missy.”

In a flash, she was off the counter and snapping the dish towel in her friend’s direction like a whip. Her eyes were twinkling with mischief. Nat gave chase with a war cry, brandishing her spoon like a lunatic. They managed three laps of the island before [Y/N] changed direction toward the living room and slipped, rolling into the side of the couch. For a moment everything was silent, audience waiting with bated breath, and then she giggled. The room filled with laughter, everyone joining in while Natasha helped her to her feet.

“Serves you right, brat.”

She stuck her tongue out, accepting a bowl of ice cream topped breakfast on her way to the table. 

Bucky could feel her eyes boring into him as he prepared his porridge. Did he have something on him? Had Sam taped another stupid sign to his back? He wouldn’t put it past the veteran. When he turned toward the table, she dropped her gaze to her food and he surreptitiously checked for anything taped where he couldn’t see it. 

_ ‘Nope, nothing. Strange.’ _ He cast a glance at her through his lashes, finding her watching again.  _ ‘What the hell?’ _

Noticing him observing her, she turned instead to her friend. “Are we going to see Bruce right away?”

“Whenever you’re ready, no rush.”

Steve’s ears perked up next to him. “Is he running the tests Tony asked for?”

Natasha nodded.

“What are the tests for?” Bucky tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Measuring my physical abilities.” She looked to Nat for confirmation. “Blood samples and a brain scan to determine the nature and extent of my conditioning. Need to know what you are dealing with, right?”

Her face had darkened considerably, the spoon in her hand shaking almost imperceptibly. Focussing, he could hear the frantic pace of her heart from across the table.

“We need to know how to help you,” Steve corrected her gently. “We can’t do that if we don’t know where you’re at. If you were, um--If they used the same formula as mine and Buck’s, you could be much stronger than you think.”

She smiled at him, suppressed emotion keeping it from reaching her eyes.

It made Bucky’s chest ache.  _ ‘Why?’ _

“You don’t have to if you’re not--”

“No, I want to!” She pressed her palms flat to the table, disguising their tremor. “I do, Tash, I swear. It’s fine. I just don’t believe that there is anything to find. The only treatments I ever had did  _ not _ involve needles.” 

A heavy silence fell over the table.

“Do you remember all of them?” Sam winced as if he had been kicked. “Sorry. I just mean, if they got to you when you were asleep, or something, you might not have known, right?”

Her face tightened into a frown, setting Bucky’s lungs ablaze with sympathy. To not know if something had been done to you, to have it done without your knowledge, was a difficult thing to wrap your head around, especially if there was no hard evidence of it.  _ ‘Even more problematic if you spent your whole life in that kind of environment,’  _ he thought, chasing the last of his oats around the bottom of his bowl.

Finishing her breakfast, she left the table in the direction of the kitchen sink.

“You really don’t have to wash it, hun,” Natasha called over to her.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” She sounded as though she was a million miles away.

Sam stood from Steve’s other side, moving away from the table with his dish. He mumbled a quiet a apology to her, his spoon clinking against the ceramic when it was set down. 

Bucky fought the urge to turn in his seat so that he could see, continuing to fidget instead.  _ ‘Why do you care if he makes nice with her? She’s just a girl, another member of this merry band of misfits.’ _

Steve’s foot trod on his own under the table. “What’s up?”

He hummed, not entirely out of his head.

“You’re playing with your food,” Natasha pointed out before heading into the kitchen as well, leaving the two friends alone with one another.

Shoveling the offending lumps into his mouth, he apologised.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what? I’m fine.”

“You’ve been acting weird since she got here.”

“Haven’t.”

“I’m not blind, Buck. What’s going on?”

He sighed, tugged on his hair in frustration. “She’s been through hell, Steve. A very familiar hell. She was tortured and experimented on six ways from Sunday, but somehow she’s still human. Despite everything, she still struggles against whatever they put in her head. It’s nuts. She should be a catatonic mess, being at the mercy of HYDRA for so long. I was, but she’s not.”

The girl in question entered the elevator behind Natasha, leaving Sam alone with the two soldiers at the table. Bucky felt her eyes on him as she left, boring into his occipital. 

“What all do you know about her treatments?”

“If what Natasha said about the memory wipes disrupting her conditioning is correct, it’s a form of cognitive recalibration.”

“Not the same as what they used on you?” Sam sat down across from them.

“The same concept but more primitive. It has its roots in electroshock therapy used in mental institutions. They designed it to target the emotional centers of the brain, shutting them down.”

“Did they ever--I mean,” Steve stammered, gesturing awkwardly at him. “On you?”

“Not often, it was easier just to wipe me and stick me in cryo when I stopped listening.”

“Why couldn’t they do that to her instead of this other thing?”

“There must have been something more going on, something the chair couldn’t fix.”

Steve’s brows were furrowed in concentration. “What do you mean?”

_ ‘He’s going to give himself a headache,’  _ Bucky thought absently before responding. “If you’re conditioned not have any emotional response and they wipe your memory, they have to start the conditioning basically from the beginning. The chair would wipe all other conditioning out of existence, tabula rasa. Whatever her treatments were blocking must have been the priority.”

“Like what, Buck?”

“I don’t know.” He let loose a frustrated sigh, running his hands through his hair. “If that’s what they were using on her, it must be something huge for her to be able to fight it so well. In the hotel, it was like she was two different people.”

Steve nodded, obviously thinking back to the same moment. 

The emotional toll it would have exacted was unimaginable, taxing her mind of everything it had. Bucky hadn’t even been able to shake it, though he could now remember how it had felt; his mind still as a pond, everything served in brutal absolutes. It had transformed him into a obedient servant, not dissimilar to his Winter Soldier programming. 

A shudder ran down his spine.

Sam broke the silence. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” 

“Yes, Mr. Wilson?”

“Can you ask Natasha if we can join them?”

_ ‘Why would she be okay with that? Having people around would just add to her anxiety, wouldn’t it?’ _

“Agent Romanoff is requesting that you bring Miss Maximoff with you to the training area, please?”

“Dibs out!” Sam’s hand flew to his nose, Bucky quickly copying him.

“Babies,” the captain grumbled, loading his bowl into the washer on his way down the hall.

“She threw me into the wall last time, man,” Sam hollered after him.

The memory of that beautiful morning flashed through Bucky’s mind, filling him with a joyful buzz.Iit had kept him in laughter for days after it had happened. He snorted. “Chicken.”

“Wuss.”

“Asshole.”

“Jerk.”

Steve returned with a disheveled Wanada in tow. “Get some coffee and let’s go, ‘kay?”

She grumbled unintelligibly, rubbing at her eyes and shuffling toward the pot on the counter.

“Buttface,” Sam stage-whispered, eyeing the blonde man standing at the elevator.

“Fat-head.”

“Really? That’s your counter?”

Bucky scowled.

“Lay off it, you two.”

“He started it.” The younger man point a finger at his antagoniser.

“What are you, five?”

“At least I’m not ancient.”

“Careful, Sam,” Wanda chided, hiding her grin in her mug. “There are two of them and they are bigger than you.”

Both soldiers rumbled disapprovingly, crossing their arms in unison. 

“Why do I put up with you two?” Steve sighed, leading their odd quartet into the elevator.

“Because you love us,” Wanda supplied, batting her lashes at him.

“And can’t ever live without us,” Sam continued, cheshire grin spreading across his face. 

Steve groaned, pained smile not unnoticed by Bucky. 

_ ‘They’re not wrong, and he falls for it every time.’ _ He shook his head, smiling at his shoes as the elevator descended to the lab. 


End file.
